


Blue's First Thanksgiving

by wrotelucy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Friendship, Gansey is in an apron ok that's pretty gr9, Holidays, Humor, Multi, Other, Thanksgiving Dinner, also just Dad!Gansey in general, only a little bit though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrotelucy/pseuds/wrotelucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue celebrates Thanksgiving for the first time at Monmouth Manufacturing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue's First Thanksgiving

Arriving on the doorstep of Monmouth Manufacturing, Blue Sargent paused in reaching for the doorknob as the wind tugged at her clothes. It was the last thursday in November.  _Thanksgiving:_ a holiday borne from imperialism and the oppression of native peoples, built to celebrate capitalism as well as the  _true_ opiate of the masses—food. In short, it stood for everything that Blue hated about America. Yet here she was, on the cusp of willingly entering a known celebration of said holiday.

300 Fox Way had never celebrated Thanksgiving. In addition to the aforementioned reason, there were plenty of others: Persephone had been a vegetarian, Maura couldn’t be bothered to spend that many hours acting as a domestic, and none of them could carve up a bird to save their lives. The list went on.

Blue’s announcement (about celebrating the holiday with her raven boys) had garnered a general response of  _"Huh?_ ”, and rightfully so: there were a lot of concerns. The girl rarely ate anything other than yogurt. There was no way in hell that the raven boys knew how to cook a turkey. Blue wasn’t even sure that they had a working kitchen at Monmouth. Jimi reminded Blue of the sordid history of Thanksgiving while Orla pointed out that eating undercooked turkey could lead to salmonella poisoning—but in the end, they had let her go. So she was here, standing at the entrance to Monmouth, hand hovering at the doorknob, on her way to her first Thanksgiving.

To Blue, it felt like a monumental shift, and she was worried. Could she really justify celebrating genocide? A gaggle of prep school boys she had—up until six months ago—totally disliked? A quest for a sleeping king that could—if she was lucky—save the boy she loved? The promise of Blue Sargent  _actually_ having it all? It didn’t seem fair to Blue. Not at all.

 **"The door isn’t going to open itself, Blue,"** Adam Parrish noted dryly. Blue shivered; she had forgotten he was behind her. Which was foolish, considering that the awkward drive over with him would be burned in to her soul forever. Even though it seemed he had come to terms that she wasn’t for him, and he wasn’t for her, that didn’t keep Gansey and all of the secrets from hovering between them, keeping them apart. The only thing they had to bond over was there plan to use the Glendower favor to keep Gansey from dying. “Bonding” over that would have worked if it wasn’t a constant reminder of Gansey dying.

Mostly, they just ignored each other.

Blue reached out and gave the doorknob a twist.  **"It’s locked."**

 **"It’s never locked,"** Adam replied. Blue turned to him, squinting. Adam nodded.  **"Give it a shove."**

Blue turned back to the door, assessing the situation. Then, without so much as warning, Blue twisted and threw her hip into the door. With a shudder, the door shot open, leaving Blue to trip inside. Adam, moving quickly, grabbed her by the shoulder, steadying her. The pair might’ve noted their proximity—her shoulder blades brushing his chest, Adam catching his breath into her hair—were it not for the scene before them.

An ancient dining table sat in the middle of the usually empty first floor. Covered in a white table cloth, fine china glistened by the light of the candles, reflecting only the shadows of Monmouth and the surrounding decorations. Ribbons hung from the rafters, carved pumpkins sat on every staircase.  A cornucopia—too large to have come from anywhere other than one of Ronan Lynch’s twisted dreams—sat in the corner of the room, housing what appeared to be a small portable oven and an exorbitant number of canned goods. A pot full of something mysterious and bubbling seemed to sit atop it. So the questions of the ‘cooking’ were answered.

 **"Jane!"** Gansey called from above. Blue looked up to see the handsome raven boy hanging over the railing, waving down at her, smiling so broadly it was a wonder his face didn’t tear in two.  **"And Parrish, of course—glad you guys could make it."**

 **“ _Incoming!_ " **Ronan Lynch hollered from somewhere out of sight. Gansey moved to look in the direction Ronan had yelled from, but ducked before turning fully around. Something that looked like a plate flew over the railing and landed with a decidedly not-plate-like  _splat_ on the ground. Blue, quirking an eyebrow, soon realized it was a pie. Beside it, Noah Czerny flickered into existence. Poking a finger into the soiled pie, he lifted a dollop of cream to his lips and stuck out his tongue.

 **"Not bad,"**  Noah said. Ronan let out a maniacal cackle. Gansey popped up from behind the rail, shaking his head.

 **"How would you know?"**  Adam asked. Gansey’s eyes widened in horror.  **"You can’t even eat anything. You’re d— _oof_!** **"** Blue’s elbow to his gut left Adam breathless. Gansey offered her a look of gratitude. Blue suppressed a smile.

 **"I hope you guys like pie—Ronan and Cabeswater seemed to have a pretty good time last night."** Gansey said. Then, gesturing towards the stairs, he added.  **"Come up—we’re almost done cooking but we’ll need help carrying everything down."**

Ignoring Gansey, Adam made his way over to examine Noah and the pie. Blue chose not to think of this as a slight, even though she was pretty sure it was. Ascending the stairs, she became flush with the site at the top.

Ronan Lynch stood huddled over an oven—which was working though apparently not plugged into anything—holding docile live turkey under his arm. The turkey squabbled. Ronan flashed Blue a look that said not to speak. Blue obliged, tight lipped, turning her gaze to Richard Campbell Gansey the III.

Immediately, she burst out laughing.

 **"What?"** He asked, indignant. Ronan’s smirk was sharp enough to carve the turkey on it’s own. Instead of saying anything, however, he gave the oven a good kick, causing the cooked turkey to pop out. Blue watched as the turkey—headless, featherless, a large toasty brown body, crispy wings—rolled onto the floor and then stood on it’s drumsticks. Ronan let out a delighted snicker. Blue tried not to be impressed.

 **" _Blue._ "** Gansey half-whined. Eyeing the cooked turkey—which was now walking towards the stairs, it’s creator in tow—Blue slowly turned her attention back to the boy before her. The giggle fit nearly started again, but she covered her mouth. Gansey frowned.  **"What’s so funny?"**

 **"The apron."** Blue spoke from behind her cupped hand. Laughter shook her whole body. Gansey blushed, pulling at the fabric attached to his front.

**"You of all people—a sexist. Honestly, men can wear aprons too, it’s two thousand and—"**

**"You do realize it says, ‘Step Back, Dad is Cooking’, right?"** Blue interrupted, pointing at Gansey’s chest. Sure enough, the words were stretched across the coarse black fabric in a comically childish scrawl. Gansey’s blush deepened, his brow lowering.

 **"Ronan said it was funny!"** From somewhere below, Ronan let out a boisterous laugh and responded,  **"Hell yeah it is."**

Gansey pouted, crossing his arms over the words. Blue let herself laugh.

* * *

Twenty minutes later—after bringing everything down and carefully wrangling Ronan’s dream roast turkey—the five friends sat around the table. On the left, Blue sat between Gansey and Adam. Noah sat across from Gansey, Ronan sat across from Adam. Between them sat Ronan’s living turkey who, by the time they all sat down, had been named Marie Antoinette.

The table was covered in strange and wonderful things most of which Blue planned to politely pick at and not eat. There were various pies—all which glimmered with a sort of dewey sheen that reminded her of Cabeswater—as well as various packaged snacks that were reminiscent of the kinds available at gas stations. The boiling pot from within the cornucopia was revealed to be full of oatmeal, a contribution made by Noah. Gansey, using Ronan’s dream stove, had made mashed potatoes, corn, and steamed to carrots that were—unsurprisingly—almost but not quite edible. At the center of it all lay Ronan’s dream turkey, a behemoth thing speared to the table by means of a large carving fork, twitching and and kicking it’s tiny drumstick “legs” in protest.

 **"I’m not eating that,"** Adam said, gesturing to the roasted turkey that was still, magically, very much alive.

 **"Me either,"** Noah added, petting the completely feathered and uncooked live turkey at his side.

 **"Yeah but that’s just because you’re dead, not because you’re a _chicken._ " **Ronan responded, stretching his legs so that one of his feet pressed into the top of one of Adam’s. Noah visibly flinched. The turkey made a noise of disapproval. Adam rolled his eyes. Neither of them moved away from the touch. Gansey coughed.

 **"Ronan, come on, can you stop yourself from being a dick for, like, the meal?"** Gansey said in his best President Cellphone voice, eliciting a frown from Blue. Before Ronan could respond, Blue cut in.

 **"Gansey, come on,"**  Blue mocked, eyeing Gansey.  **"Can you stop yourself from using that voice for, like, ever?"**

Ronan, Adam, and Noah laughed with varying degrees of amusement. The full and able bodied turkey made a noise of delight. Gansey’s face pinked, but he smiled in a good natured way. Beneath the table, the toe of his sneaker found it’s way to Blue. Blue didn’t move away.

 **"For the record,"** Blue looked to Ronan, after the pause.  **"I’m not eating that thing either."**

 **"More for me then,"** Ronan responded, drawing a carving knife from somewhere Blue couldn’t even begin to guess. Resting his elbow on the table, he waved it around carelessly.  **"Let’s eat."**

As he moved to slice the still convulsing cooked turkey, the living turkey—perched casually on the chair directly across from blue—let out a sound that could only be equated to a scream. Ronan stopped, pointing his knife at the creature.

**"I’ll have none of that, Marie Antoinette. If you don’t behave, you’ll be next."**

Blue frowned. Noah frantically stroked the turkey, which had begun to tremor. Adam’s nose wrinkled with distaste.  **"Dude."**

Ronan’s brow furrowed with annoyance, his electric eyes flashing paranoiacally around the room.  **"What?"**

Gansey’s toe pressed a little more firmly against Blue’s foot.

 **"New rule: no threatening to sacrifice dinner guests. Got that Lynch?"** Gansey stated, jerking his chin in Ronan’s direction. Blue was nearly fatigued with these shows of male dominance. Her stomach growled. She wanted some yogurt.

 **"Sure thing, Dad."** Ronan deadpanned, setting the knife down next to his porcelain plate. This seemed to alleviate both the turkeys. Ronan made a move to grab one of the pies from the pile.

 **"And no anarchist pie throwing bullshit either."** Gansey added, pointing accusatorially. Blue and Adam snorted at the same time and pretended it didn’t happen. Noah had begun to feed the turkey that still had a head (and that was decidedly a diner guest) some of Gansey’s undercooked corn. Ronan countered with a sly look, raising a pie with the very tips of his narrow fingers. Adam beamed.

 **"You know us anarchists,"** Ronan started, raising the pie from the table, tilting it’s face slightly towards Gansey. Blue looked from Ronan to the pie in his hand, from the pie to Gansey, and from Gansey back to Ronan. Ronan drew back his arm, readying the spring.  **"We’ve got some trouble with rules."**

And thus, Thanksgiving at Monmouth Manufacturing kicked off.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://babellamy.tumblr.com/post/103789702858/biotictrash-answered-your-question-to-write-a)
> 
> kudos are love but comments are life c:


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